Enough
by Sebe
Summary: Sam doesn't feel anything anymore, but Dean still catches glimpses of his brother. He doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.


Author's Notes: Just noticed that Sam's supposed to be this super-hunter now, right? But every time Dean goes after him, Sam never even looks like he tried to fight back, what's with that?

Also, yeah for tonight! Can't wait. Someone asked me what would happen in the premiere got pushed back again and my head immediately exploded…just like the CW building would most likely do. Good luck tonight everyone and please read and review!

Summary: Sam doesn't feel anything anymore, but Dean still catches glimpses of his brother. He doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.

**Enough**

Dean hadn't meant to. Really, he hadn't, but when he stumbled in from the bar and saw Not-Sam typing away on his laptop like everything was alright, he snapped.

He grabbed Sam and threw him off the bed. Straddling Sam, Dean hit him. Not like he had with Veritas, he still had some control left, just two quick blows to the too-familiar, too-wrong face. After that, he settled for just grabbing Sam's shirt and shaking him, just needing to get this energy, this anger out of him.

When he'd calmed a bit and let Sam drop back to the floor, he realized that this new Sam could have thrown him off no problem. Hell, could have killed him no problem, but he didn't. And he hadn't when Dean had attacked him after the whole Veritas thing either. Sam never even tried to fight back, never raised a hand to Dean. Sam just let his brother wail on him.

Dean's head screamed how screwed up this was. Sam was supposed to fight back and he tried to come up with a reason he hadn't, didn't, wouldn't. Tried to think of some explanation other than the one he knew was right.

He was still Sam's big brother.

Sam still trusted him, maybe trusted him more now that he had no moral compass of his own. His sense of right and wrong was completely gone and Dean was almost sick with the thought that Sam could think that Dean being angry enough to hurt him was how things were supposed to be.

Dean grit his teeth and felt his eyes burn.

"You're not Sammy." He choked out, managing to keep his voice from breaking, but unable to stop the tear that fell on Sam's face.

"No." Not-Sam was nothing if not professional, clipped, concise. And that threatened to break Dean even more. But hazel eyes just stared up into his, not comforting, not with ridicule at his weakness, just there. "No, but I'm Sam."

Dean jerked away from the body beneath his. He wasn't angry anymore, just…desolate. And he wondered briefly if the emotional black-hole that was his brother's condition was spreading. Then he wondered if he cared. Dean leaned back against the wall, covering his eyes, because he couldn't seem to close them, and he didn't want to look at Sam anymore.

Pictures of a young Sammy, baby Sammy, saying Dean's name for the first time and toddling after him too fast so that he fell and scraped his knees ran through his mind. Sam never cried, just waited for Dean to turn around, pick him up, and make it all better. Because he always did.

Dean hung his head and made not one sound as he cried. He felt Sam move, but didn't look up. Whiskey and despair rushing through his veins, he dropped off into sleep.

When Dean woke up and dared a slit-eyed look around, the first thing he saw was Sam sitting not two feet away from him and Dean immediately knew he hadn't moved all night, just watching his brother. Dean noted that he was still in the cramped position he'd passed out in on the floor, but a blanket from one of the beds had been thrown over him.

Dean stared at Sam and Sam stared back, his black eye from where Dean had hit him starting to form along with a scabbed over busted lip. He didn't say anything, waiting for a cue from Dean as to what to do now and Dean wanted to cry all over again, even if he thought he had no more tears left.

The sociopathic killer, the naïve child, both were his brother now and he couldn't yet reconcile that, didn't want to in these early hours of the morning, a hangover waiting in the wings.

Sam hadn't moved him to a bed so he'd be more comfortable, but he hadn't left him alone either. He'd thrown a blanket over him, literally because there was no sign he even tried to tuck him in, and he'd watched him all night instead of doing research. Dean thought that had to count for something.

Dean made himself believe, as he tried to get up and Sam rose to help him, that had to count for something.


End file.
